


The Secret Life of Percival Weasley

by cyren2132



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coma, Families of Choice, Gen, Injury, Journal, Secrets, Training, Undercover, Wizard Battle, Worried Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-25 13:05:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyren2132/pseuds/cyren2132
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To others, he may have seemed a patriotic fool, but Percival Weasley had a secret mission within the ministry, protecting untold muggles he would never meet and family and friends who would never know. Until they do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Set near the beginning of Book Six and born from the desire for there to be a reason Percy sent his Christmas sweater back to Molly. Originally published in 2011. Sorry to people who have been reading as I update, but I realized partway through posting that I should probably add another ship tag. Hope that's not a problem.

Percy continued down the sidewalk. He still couldn't believe he was doing this. One day he's sitting behind a desk in his father's office and the next...well, he just couldn't believe it, even after two years.

He kept an alert eye on all the muggles passing by in their winter coats and scarves, chatting and laughing into small boxes - mobile telephones, a muggle means of portable communication, he told himself, absently reciting lines from the last chapter of a Muggle Studies textbook. The devices in that book were much larger than the ones Percy saw in use today, however.

But no matter. The point remained that these poor souls had no idea the danger they were in. Couldn't even fathom it. He'd spent time once in a small coffee shop and overheard a few patrons discussing far away wars that would only touch most of them peripherally. That there was one right in their backyard completely escaped their notice.

As it should.

Percy kept walking. He had a very important appointment.

The farther he got from the heart of town, the sparser foot-traffic got. He finally stopped at a small park - if it could be called that; it was really more like a patch of grass with a pair of trees - and waited. The evening's chill made seconds feel like minutes, and Percy soon wished he had thought to enchant his gloves with an ever-warm charm before he left. He couldn't do it now, though. Magic in muggle areas was strictly forbidden. Except in case of emergency, that is, and Percy knew his irritatingly cold ears and fingertips were no such thing.

Keeping his eye on a dark alley across the way - the back door to a small diner - he tugged his hat down and blew into his hands, rubbing them together and imagining a warmth he didn't feel.

The street was empty now, except for a young couple that had just rounded the corner with a little girl. The girl was crying about a lost toy that the diner's waitstaff theorized may have been accidentally thrown out with the trash.

"Allora, darling," the young woman said, "it's getting dark and if your toy is in the bin, it will be all dirty - maybe even broken. Let's go home and Papa will get you another tomorrow."

Yes, do that, Percy thought to himself. But the girl continued to cry, and the man insisted that they give it a go to save a pound.

Percy checked his watch. There wasn't time for this. He cursed silently as the family entered the alley and started toward them. He quickened his pace as he concocted an official sounding diatribe about the health and safety concerns of crawling around trash bins at dusk.

Percy was about to round the corner into the alley when he heard three distinct cracks. He instinctively pulled back, as if on a string, and pressed his back against the wall and the young woman squeaked in surprise.

Percy drew a sharp breath and the cold air burned his lungs. Three people had just apparated into that alleyway.

"Who are you?" the man demanded, far too ignorant to have fear.

"Tsk tsk," Percy heard a woman - not the girl's mother - say slowly. "You muggles should really know better than to be in our way." The killing curse tumbled from her lips then, as fast as her other words were slow. A green flash filled the alley and Percy heard a sickening thump.

The woman screamed for her husband and Percy tried to move. _Come on Percival,_ he said to himself. _You got 'Outstanding in Defense on your OWLs and NEWTs ... move._

But he couldn't.

"Avada Kedavra!" the woman yelled again. The alley fell silent save for the quiet tears and sound of tiny footsteps creeping toward the dim light of the street lamps.

"Oh, darling," the woman said - her voice full of sugary mock sympathy. "It'll be all right soon." Percy tightened his hand around his wand and took a deep breath. "Avada..." the woman began.

"Expelliarmus!" Percy yelled as he turned into the alley. The woman went flying backward the length of the alley; her wand landed with a plop inside a rubbish bin. Percy looked at the girl and she looked back at him, too terrified to run. He whipped off his hat and set it on her head while trading curses with the two Death Eaters who accompanied the witch that killed the young muggle couple.

A confundus curse struck the thinner of of the Death Eaters square in his middle. He went running away from Percy and directly into a wall. The witch, finally free from a pile of old cardboard boxes dove into the bin that held her wand, and the third - a tall muscular man with long stringy hair had stopped momentarily. He stared at the sky and Percy took the moment to shoot green sparks in the air and tell the girl run.

She didn't. The larger Death Eater laughed - the low guttural sound turned to grunts and then something not quite a howl. Percy spared a glance up. The moon was peeking over the roof of the buildings, and it was full.

The werewolf-Death Eater charged. Percy had never seen a werewolf up close in its wolf form. His mind went blank. No fancy curse, no spell, no prayer came to mind that would save the girl and him from a werewolf. So he did the first thing he thought of...a small little spell from his first year - his first week, actually - at Hogwarts.

With a swish and flick of his wrist the charging werewolf left the ground and hovered in the air. It was a perfect levitation charm on a wolf much heavier than a feather. Professor Flitwick would have been so proud. A few waves of his hand sent the beast flying into the walls. The thinner Death Eater flung a hex at Percy before apparating away. Percy ducked, losing his concentration on the werewolf, and felt the hex slam into the wall next to him.

The werewolf struggled to its feet and the witch cackled with delight as she found her wand. She moved to crawl from the bin and Percy silently sent a blast of energy toward them both, knocking them back. The lid of the bin crashed down and he turned to the werewolf,

Percy knew magical ropes weren't his strong point, but he needed some way to contain the werewolf. It had started to charge again when Percy raised his wand and concentrated.

The werewolf stumbled, it's front legs now shorter than its back. It flipped head over heels before lurching forward, and falling to the ground, transfigured into a harmless stuffed puppy.

Percy dropped to his knees in exhaustion, a thin line of blood trickling from his nose. The little girl looked at him from her spot of relative safety, hidden behind two stacked wooden crates of rotting vegetables. Her big blue eyes were barely visible from underneath his hat, enchanted with a personal shield charm. His brothers' design.

Percy told the girl to run again, and this time she listened. The trash bin opened with a bang and he turned to it.

"Expelliarmus!" the witch yelled.

Percy fell back, his head slamming into the pavement and his wand flying from his hand. He heard it hit the ground with a clatter and roll into the street.

Once again, Percy found himself unable to move - this time for the spell placed upon him. He watched, straining to see from the corner of his eye, as the witch approached. She stopped once to stare at the toy formerly a werewolf. The plush doll vibrated as if any minute it would explode back into the beast it had been. She chuckled, patted its head and continued toward Percy.

"Now, now," she said, "that wasn't very nice of you, turning poor old Jareth into that ickle doggie," her voice was once again laced with sugary sweetness. It wasn't until she reached him that it turned cold. "And look at what you've done to my beautiful robes." A leaf of lettuce stuck to her shoe and a strand of pasta hung from her stained shoulder as an unidentified sauce dripped in cool droplets on Percy's forehead. "That wasn't nice at all." She pointed he wand at him and spoke words Percy hoped he would never hear.

"Crucio," she said as red sparks flew from her wand.


	2. Forgotten Son

Molly was planning the next day's meal when she heard a knock on the door. The spoon she had been absent-mindedly carrying fell to the floor with a clang.

"Arthur!" she hissed, but he was already in the kitchen doorway, a newspaper in one hand spilling pieces of itself onto the floor.

"I heard it," he said. He cautiously approached the door. "You there!" he called, "What business have you here?"

"Mr. Weasley," a man's voice said, "My name is Marcus Worthington. I work with the Ministry of Magic, and I bring word on your son."

Arthur's face turned white and he took a few steps back from the door. "Which one?" he said shakily.

"Mr. Weasley, might I come in, please?" The man said.

"Oh, Arthur for god's sake," Molly said, rushing for the door. Arthur grabbed her wrist as she passed and pulled her close.

"No, Molly, wait. Wait," he said softly in her ear. It could be a trap." Arthur cleared his throat before calling out again "Do you have any identification, Mr. Worthington?" The man answered in the affirmative and Arthur pointed at a window to the left the door. "Leave it on that sill there, would you," he ordered.

They watched as a man, hidden mostly in darkness placed a small metal badge on the window sill and backed away, his hands held in the air away from his body. With a flick of his wrist and a wave of his wand the window edged up just a crack and the badge flew to Arthur's outstretched hand before the window shut again with a slam.

Arthur grabbed Molly's shopping list from the table and flipped the parchment over, placing the metal badge on the top edge. He tapped it once. A misty image appeared above the badge - a strong-looking man with a short beard and dark hair neatly pulled back stared back at him as inky words began to spill onto the parchment. His name was indeed Marcus Worthington. He'd been an auror with the ministry for 30 years.

At this Molly sank into a dining chair and a small whimper escaped her lips. An auror! Memories of her children lying dead at her feet as she tried in vain to banish the boggart that had lived at 12 Grimmauld Place sprang forth.

She shook in her chair. An auror. He could be here for anybody. Bill, Charlie, Fred and George - the only one she wasn't worried about was Ron. If something had happened to Ron at Hogwarts Dumbledore would have come himself, right? Or at the very least he would have sent Hagrid or someone from the Order...not a random auror from the ministry!

As a list of the man's awards and citations filled the page and began to bleed onto the table, Arthur said a few more words over the badge, and - finally satisfied that it was real - plucked it off the parchment. The image disappeared in a puff of smoke and the words began to fade as Arthur opened the door and let their visitor inside.

The man who greeted them was somewhat different from the image with his badge. Streaks of gray ran through his hair, several strands of which had fallen from the leather tie that kept the rest pulled back from his face. His beard also was speckled with gray, betraying his age and trying hopelessly to cover a series of battle scars that pocked the left side of his face in a line from temple to chin.

"I'm sorry to be interrupting you so late," Worthington said. "I got here as fast as I could. Your son -"

"Which son?" Molly interrupted. "Is it Charlie? Did something happen to him? Bill? Fred? George?"

"Percival," Worthington interrupted. "I'm here about Percival."

"Percy?" Molly gasped. It occurred to her then that in all the worrying she had done since Worthington's arrival, her thoughts had never once turned to her middle son.

"What's he done?" Arthur asked. Arthur loved all his children, but tensions had been undeniably high between Percy and the rest of the family for several years. Much as Arthur hated to admit it, he could understand if his persnickety son had gotten on the bad side of an auror or two. "And where is he," Arthur added, surprised that Worthington hadn't dragged the boy home by the scruff of his neck.

Worthington waved his hand and a kitchen chair slid forward, lightly tapping Arthur on the back of his knees. "You might want to sit down, Mr. Weasley," he said. Arthur doggedly crossed his arms and remained standing. "Very well," Worthington continued.

"Percival was involved in a Death Eater attack in London this evening."

Arthur sank into his chair as Molly rose from hers, knocking it off kilter behind her. "Death Eaters?" She exclaimed. "What was he...is he..." She stopped, unable to bring herself to finish the sentence, let alone the thought.

"He's alive," Worthington said gently. "He's at St. Mungos now; I'm here to take you to him."

It took all of two minutes for Arthur and Molly to get their coats, summon their broomsticks and fly far enough from The Burrow to be out of range from the anti-apparition security measures. It took even less time - mere seconds - to apparate to the doors of St. Mungos Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. But for the Weasleys, it felt like an eternity.

If asked, they wouldn't have been able to tell what Worthington had said to the dummies guarding the hospital's entrance - cleverly disguised as an indefinitely closed Muggle department store in London - nor given accurate descriptions of anyone in the ground floor waiting room, despite at least one wizard who appeared to have a tree sprouting from the top of his head.

They barely remembered the lift to the fourth floor, though Molly would later mention the cold fist that grabbed her heart as they entered the floor for spell damage and the relief she felt as they passed the ward for those permanently damaged by magic.

Finally they came to the end of a long hallway. A tall dark man stood at attention by the last door on the left. He nodded once at Worthington, who pushed the door open. Percy was stretched out on a bed unconscious in the middle of a white, windowless room. A bandage was wrapped around his head with locks of red hair - usually neatly combed and coiffed spilling over the edges.

"Percy!" Molly cried as she rushed to his side. "Percy, sweetie, can you hear me?" She grabbed his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Percy?" She touched his face, sweeping the hair away from his eyes, but got no response.

"What's happened to him?" Arthur asked as he moved to stand by Molly, placing what he hoped was a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Why isn't he awake?"

"We don't know," Worthington said, not taking his eyes off Percy. "There could be any number of factors contributing, and the doctors say the side effects of cruciatus can be different for ev-"

"Cruciatus?" Molly exclaimed. "Somebody used the cruciatus curse on my Percy?"

"Who would do that?" Arthur demanded. "Have you caught them?"

Worthington held up his hands as the Weasley parents peppered him with questions ranging from where the aurors found Percy to how they found him and if their son would be safe.

"Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, please," he said. "We have a guard at the door 24 hours a day. No one will hurt your son within these walls."

"Yes, I'd think you'd have a guard posted," Molly said, "what with him being an assistant to the Minister."

"He hasn't been the minister's assistant since Fudge was sacked," Worthington said, referring to Cornelius Fudge, the former Minister of Magic. "But someone would be posted regardless," Worthington added as he tentatively placed a hand on Percy's shoulder. "We look out for our own."

"I beg your pardon?" Arthur said. "What do you mean by that?"

Worthington sighed, firmly closed the door looked at the Weasleys. "Your son," he said, "is part of a special Auror task force. He was investigating a tip about an impendig attack at one of three muggle locations."

Both the Weasleys gaped at Worthington, too shocked at first to speak. "Percy?" Molly finally said. "An auror? Don't be ridiculous, Mr. Worthington."

Worthington let out a hearty laugh, his smile very nearly returning his face to the youthful visage brought forth in his badge.

"What's so funny?" Molly demanded.

"Oh, nothing," Worthington said as he dabbed at his eyes and tried to compose himself. "It's just, that's exactly what Percival said."


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur and Molly each sat on either side of Percy in a pair of stuffed chairs conjured by Worthington. They still were having a hard time believing the tale he was spinning. Percy? An auror? Part of a secret task force set in motion by Rufus Scrimgeour long before he was promoted to Minister of Magic?

"I don't understand," Arthur said. "Why wouldn't he have told us?

"I think he was afraid," Worthington said from the foot of Percy's bed - with the addition of the chairs there really wasn't enough room for him to continue his customary pacing. "I'm sure you've noticed that families of aurors are frequently targeted by the Dark Lord."

"As if we weren't being targeted already," Molly said. "It's not like Arthur's serving tea and biscuits."

"Due respect, madam, but I think there was a bit more to it than that," Worthington said.

"Well then," Molly said, "Explain it to me. Explain why my son would hide such a thing from his family."

Worthington gazed at Percy, hoping for a flinch or a twitch or a sigh - anything that would signal an improvement in the younger man's condition. When none came he took a deep breath and focused again on the Weasleys.

"Bearing in mind that Percival-"

"Percy," Molly interrupted.

"Percival," Worthington continued "spoke little of his family, I got the impression he feared had he mentioned his new position, he would have been worried over at best and laughed at or not taken seriously at worst."

"That's preposterous," Molly said. "We would never laugh at him."

"I can't speak to that," Worthington said. "but he did say that he tried to tell you all once, and it didn't go particularly well."

"Nonsense," Molly said definitively. "Percy never even hinted at being an auror."

"Well," Worthington said resignedly. "Perhaps I misunderstood." The three resumed their vigil over Percy, the silence broken only by a loud growl from Arthur's stomach. "Perhaps we should visit the fifth floor," Worthington said. "I hear the sandwiches in the tea room are really quite excellent."

"No," Molly said. "I won't leave my son."

"Mrs. Weasley I can promise you that Isaac out there won't move an inch," Worthington said, referring to the guard they saw as they entered. "I guarantee no unauthorized person, creature or item will make its way into this room."

Arthur's stomach gurgled again, as if to say "Why yes, let's go up a whopping one floor where there just might be all manner of delicious snacks and treats," and the three of them rose - albeit Molly slightly reluctantly - and made their way to the hospital's tea room and gift shop. Molly turned back to stare at Percy as they left the room until Worthington leaned over her shoulder.

"Don't worry," he whispered. "We'll be notified immediately if there's any change - good or bad."

With that, the three headed for the lift, trying once again to avoid even looking at the ward for the permanently injured.

Indeed the tea room sandwiches were delicious and neither of the Weasleys realized how hungry they were until they started eating. It wasn't long however before a young disheveled wizard with shaggy brown hair came running into the eatery.

"Master Worthington!" he called out, breathlessly as he skidded to a halt at their table. "You were right about-"

Worthington silenced him with a raised hand, waved his wand and spoke a few words, erecting a cone of silence around their area. He nodded at the man - practically a boy still - to finish speaking.

"You were right about the dog," he said.

"Dog?" Arthur inquired.

Worthington turned back to the Weasleys. "When we arrived on the scene," he said, "the woman who was...attacking...Percival fled. Apparated out. And in the middle of the alley was a small child's toy. A stuffed dog, but it seemed...off...somehow. I put a binding spell on it but in my haste to get to Percy, to Percival, I'm afraid I made the spell a bit stronger than I intended. Removing it would have taken considerable time and effort, and I wanted to get to the both of you. I take it the spell has worn off, Franz?" he said to the other wizard.

"Yes," Franz, said, nodding his head.

"And? Who is it?"

"Erm...we're not sure," he answered. "Not 100 percent."

Worthington breathed deeply through his nose, clearly losing patience with the man. "What do you mean you're not 100 percent sure?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"Well, when the...when the toy transformed back to its original form, it was...well, it was..."

"Would you spit it out, already," Molly nearly yelled.

"A werewolf," Franz said, the words spilling out of his mouth like a tidal. "The toy dog turned into a werewolf."

"Merlin's beard!" Arthur exclaimed. "Are you telling me that my son, my Percy, transfigured a werewolf into a toy?"

Franz nodded with wide eyes as Worthington hid a grin behind his hand. "Percy, you talented little bugger," he muttered.

"I don't think the transfiguration would have held for very long if not for Mr. Worthington's binding spell, though," Franz said.

"No matter," Worthington said with wave of his hand. "We'll know who it is when the sun rises, but do you have an educated guess?" he asked Franz.

"Yes, sir," Franz said. "We think it's Jareth MacGregor."

"Yes, that would make sense," Worthington said, absently stroking his beard. "The woman did strongly favor Portia Kimball from what I could see before she apparated out. It's a fair bet Questery was there, too."

"I'm sorry," Arthur interrupted, "but who are these people?"

"Jareth MacGregor, Portia Kimball and Devlin Questery," Worthington said. "Three minor Death Eaters. They usually work as a team and excel at wreaking mischief, mayhem and havoc on muggles." He turned back to Franz.

"Double the security on MacGregor - they *may* be foolish enough to try to break him out," he said. "Also make sure all magical law enforcement officers have profiles on the three and that they're shared with muggle law enforcement."

"Yes, sir," Franz said.

"And impress upon the muggle liaison the importance of making sure non-magicals don't engage the Death Eaters, would you. I hear one of the victims was some sort of lawman, and the last thing we need are more deaths because some vengeful muggle decided to play SuperAlien."

"Superman," Franz corrected.

"What?"

"Making sure some muggle doesn't play Superman," Franz continued. "An American superhero - orphaned from another planet gets super powers from our sun and fights crime while keeping a secret identity as a mild-mannered reporter. Changes into his costume in a phone booth."

"I don't care," Worthington answered. "Just go."

"Yes, sir," Franz said. He turned and walked the length of the room before doubling back. "Sir, I almost forgot," he said, "we found...we found Mr. Weasley's wand."

"Excellent," Worthington said. "Let's have it."

"Sir, I thought I would turn it into evidence," Franz said nervously.

"Nonsense," Worthington replied. "Given that Mr. Weasley has committed no crime, the law states his wand should be returned to himself or his family. These fine people," he said pointing to Arthur and Molly, "are his family."

"Yes sir," Franz said. Able to look neither Worthington nor the Weasleys in the eye, he reached into his robe, removed Percy's wand and set it on the table. "I'll go get those profiles sent out sir," he said quickly as he backed away and left the tea room.

Molly's heart broke as she looked at her son's wand - or rather, what was left of it. It sat before them in three splintered pieces with strands of unicorn hair poking out of its core at odd angles.

"Oh, Arthur," Molly said, reaching one shaking hand out to pet the wood and rub the unicorn hair between her fingers. "His wand...Ollivander is gone, what will he do for a wand," she cried, as if Percy weren't lying comatose in a bed one floor down. Arthur wrapped her in his arms and held her close, gently rocking her back and forth.

"There, there," he said. "We'll make it right. Somehow, we'll make it right."

Worthington excused himself and went to fetch more tea, stopping for a long moment to closely examine the painting of Mungo Bonham that he'd seen at least a thousand times since becoming an auror.

When he returned, Molly was holding the broken wand to her chest, as if it were her child. Arthur thanked him for the tea, and then looked solemnly at Worthington.

"You said there was a death in the attack?" he asked. "How bad was it?"

"A muggle man and woman were killed," Worthington said. "We think there may be a third witness somewhere. The man had photographs of a young girl, and a children's event had recently ended at a bookstore a few blocks down from the attack."

Molly gasped.

"Are you telling me there's a child wandering the streets of London?" she asked. "Some innocent little girl watched her parents be murdered?"

"We don't know," Worthington said. "We sent a patrol to the address on the man's ID, but the home was empty. We won't give up, though."

Molly nodded, wiped her eyes and rose to her feet, wobbling slightly. Arthur stood to steady her. Worthington stared at them. Watching the two of them together, was like watching two loving halves of the same organism work together in perfect conjunction with each other. Two exhausted halves.

"It's late," Worthington said. "You two should get some rest. I've spoken with the hospital staff, and normally there would be guest beds available for you to stay here, but I'm afraid with all the Death Eater attacks of late, St. Mungos is booked solid."

Molly looked at Arthur in horror. "Arthur, we can't go all the way back home," she said. "I can't be that far away from him!" Arthur closed his eyes and nodded.

"I can try speaking to Tom at The Leaky Cauldron. Maybe if we explain..."

Percy had said once that he had grown up in a large family without a lot of money, and it looked like little had changed. "There's no need for that," Worthington spoke up. The Weasleys looked at him, confused.

"Percival's flat is very near here," Worthington continued. "We could be there walking in five minutes and then you could reconnect the Floo for in and outbound travel to St. Mungos -"

"Oh, no," Molly interrupted. "We couldn't possibly intrude like that on him. It's his place." Even as a child, Percy had been very adamant that his things and his space were his. Of course he would share with anyone who asked, but his face would always turn a particular shade of enraged red whenever one of the other children - usually one of the twins - took without asking or invaded his personal space for a laugh. _It's disrespectful!_ he would holler, even as an 8-year-old. "We just couldn't."

"Mrs. Weasley," Worthington said. "I think - I *know* Percy would want you to stay there." She looked at him incredulously. "But," he continued, "if you would rather stay at the Leaky Cauldron, I would ask that you at least stop by his flat and let me in for a moment. I believe by now his owl needs let out to hunt."

"Why on earth would *I* need to let you in?" Molly asked,

"My dear woman," Worthington said, "outside of Percival, you're the ONLY one who can let us in."


	4. The Christmas Sweater

Worthington had explained the magic to them, but Molly still wasn't sure she believed it.

_Everything we touch leaves a magical imprint of ourselves on it,_ Worthington had said _. Likewise, some spells, like the security spell Percival uses, leave a transferable imprint as well. ..._

According to Worthington, the Christmas sweater she had sent to Percy last year retained a bit of magic unique to Molly, which had been used to prime the locks and whatever else Percy would want her to be able to access. Finishing the spell, however, required the spell's imprint to be transferred back to Molly.

And so he had returned the sweater, not out of anger or hatred or spite, but out of love and trust mingled with an air of fear for himself and for his family.

And when she undid the package, ran her hands over the blue fabric and held it to her face, drying tears and muffling sobs, the spell was completed, creating a unique bond between Molly, her son and his most personal possessions. At least, that was what Worthington said.

When the three of them arrived at Percy's apartment Molly watched as he tugged on the door, the handle unbudging. Arthur did the same and got the same result.

When Molly stepped to the threshold, however, her hand had barely touched the metal before locks could be heard disengaging and the door opened smoothly and effortlessly, allowing entrance to the small apartment.

Molly gasped. It was true. And if the spell was true, it only stood to reason that everything else Worthington had said was true, rather than some cruel joke, prank or cover-up. She hadn't allowed herself to really believe it until that moment.

Her son was an auror, and just maybe, she didn't know him at all.


	5. The Journal

Molly tossed and turned in her son's bed, awake again after a mere 45 minutes of fitful sleep. Arthur snored softly next to her, but it was neither that nor the dinner plate she had transfigured into a pillow that were keeping her awake.

As she stared at the ceiling she replayed portions of an earlier conversation with Marcus Worthington in her head.

"My son can't be an auror," she had said while sitting vigil over her son's hospital bed. "It's not possible." Worthington looked at her then, mild confusion wrinkling his brow.

"Do you doubt he possesses the skill or talent for such a job?" he had asked. But it wasn't that at all. Percy held the family record - and possibly a few Hogwarts records - for OWLs and NEWTs. Molly doubted there was a shred of magic for which he was incapable.

"It's his personality," Molly finally answered. "I know a few aurors, and he's nothing like them. He doesn't fit in that world. Besides that...I'd still **know.** Arthur would know. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement can't hide an entire auror task force."

"I think you'll find," Worthington had said with a glint in his eye, "that aurors come in all shapes, sizes and demeanors. And can you blame us if we keep secrets better than Dumbledore?"

Molly and Arthur had tried to hide their surprise at his comment. Whether they were successful they did not know. Whether it mattered, was inconsequential. Worthington, it appeared, had at least a working knowledge of The Order of the Phoenix, Albus Dumbledore's motley crew of freedom fighters against Voldemort.

"Your son would never betray you," Worthington had said, almost as if he had read their minds. "We've known about Dumbledore's Order for some time. I think you'll find we have a common - " The door had opened then, and Isaac, the auror guarding the door, poked his head in and pulled Worthington away to receive an owl, leaving Arthur and Molly alone with their son to think about the implications of Worthington's words.

And that's what Molly had been thinking about ever since - at least, when not consumed by outright fear for her child.

Molly rolled onto her back and stretched. Arthur grunted at the movement, but didn't stir. Resigned to being inexplicably wide awake, Molly pushed back the blankets and stood up.

The apartment was small - one room with a small cooktop in the corner and bathroom off to the side - but it certainly felt like the Percy she knew. The bed had been neatly made when they arrived, dishes were washed and all his belongings were arranged just so - a place for everything and everything in its place.

It didn't make it any easier to reconcile the boy she had raised with the man Worthington said he had become, but it was a comfort to know he had not turned into a wild thing, living in squalor and tossing his things about with utter disregard.

Molly raised the lights in the room - she didn't worry about Arthur; he could sleep through just about anything - and walked its perimeter, hoping the activity would force tiredness upon her.

Percy had a cauldron set up in one corner. Empty glass vials and containers sat sparkling on a shelf above it, and sealed ones gleamed with a multitude of colored liquid on a different shelf to the right - organized by type, size and color, Molly couldn't help but notice - and a standard supply of potion ingredients (plus a few things Molly didn't recognize) sat on a shelf to the left.

She glanced in the cauldron and was surprised to find a light pink substance hardening inside. A quick whiff told her it was a muscle ache paste. She knew it needed time to cool and set up after brewing, but the longer it was exposed to the open air after reaching the proper consistency, the more brick-like and less effective it became and eventually would be useless.

She couldn't believe Percy would allow any of the paste to go to waste like that. _He thought he_ _'_ _d be coming back_ a little voice inside her head whispered. Molly grabbed a vial of mandrake oil from the left shelf and added a few drops to the cauldron, stirring its contents until they returned to a smooth, creamy consistency.

A stubby round container, barely bigger than the palm of Molly's hand sat on the shelf with the empty vials - its lid off to the side, the only one that wasn't closed tight. She grabbed it, blew out a few flecks of dust that had settled and transferred the paste to it. A wave of her wand cleaned whatever traces remained from the cauldron and she sealed the container, finishing the work Percy had started.

She wasn't sure where on the shelf of completed potions it should go, and she didn't want it to get lost among other things. But the desk was near the door. It had a high back and attached shelf, which Molly went to place the paste upon. Surely he'd see it there...when he returned.

When they had arrived with Worthington, Molly and Arthur were so exhausted that they could barely let Hermes out to hunt and reconnect the Floo before collapsing in bed and certainly hadn't stopped to closely examine the small dwelling, so it was a surprise to find on the top shelf of Percy's desk, right at eye-level, the family portrait they had taken a few years ago in Egypt. Everyone was there, from Arthur to Ginny, smiling and waving behind plate glass.

Once again, Molly found herself fighting tears. Despite the reality of the protection spell Percy had used, they had had such a falling out before he moved away that she didn't think she'd find anything here that reminded him of home.

Next to the family photo was a second framed picture, pulling double duty as a bookend for an auror field manual, a book of battle potions and a small collection of quotes from influential witches and wizards. More proof that Worthington was telling the truth.

She pulled the photo closer to her and gazed at the small group. Worthington stood stoically on the right. Isaac, the man guarding Percy's door a St. Mungos stood at the left of the frame, next to Percy. Another young man stood to Percy's right, tall with brown hair, and a young woman stood next to him, her blonde curls fluttering slightly in a gentle breeze.

All five were wearing aurors' blue dress robes with a small badge pinned to the breast. A silver bar adorned the collars of Isaac, Percy and the other two, and a disc was attached to Worthington's. They had just finished their training, Molly realized quickly, the silver bars and disc denoting length of service.

Molly watched as they all stared seriously from the frame until a mischievous grin worked its way onto the brown-haired man's face. Quickly, he wrapped one arm around the woman and another round Percy and Isaac - he had to stretch to reach Isaac, and ended up grabbing the man by the sleeve of his robe - and pulled them all close. He said something, though Molly couldn't quite make out what, and the four new aurors burst into laughter. Worthington remained to the right, very nearly unmoving. A quick roll of his eyes and slight smile the only indication that anything had changed.

They all seemed so happy. In fact, Molly couldn't remember the last time she had seen Percy so relaxed, let alone laughing uncontrollably - or doing anything uncontrollably, really - at a joke.

Molly lowered herself into the desk chair as the group straightened and returned to its original, serious state. She ran a finger across Percy's face and then his robes, as if to smoothe nonexistent wrinkles.

She closed her eyes and set the frame on the desk. It was then that she noticed a piece of parchment, mostly in the shadow of the hutch, left out so the ink could dry. She pulled it closer and wished she hadn't.

Large letters at the top identified the document and Percy's last will and testament. She wanted to stop reading, put the document back in the shadows and never see, think or speak of it again, but she couldn't. Her eyes continued down the page.

_I, Percival Ignatius Weasley, being of sound mind, do hereby declare this instrument to be my last will and testament. In the event of my death, I bequeath..._

Percy's last wishes stunned her almost as much as knowing he had last wishes. Of his monetary assets, 20 percent was to go toward the Hogwarts Special Circumstance fund. The fund provided money for underprivileged families to buy books, supplies and robes required to attend Hogwarts.

The Weasleys had used it once. It was Bill's last year and the twins' first and Arthur hadn't yet become head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, meaning more often than not the Weasley family was not quite making ends meet versus just barely making do. She wasn't aware Percy remembered or even knew about the help the school had given them that year without asking a thing in return.

Another 20 percent was allocated to a fund for the families of aurors killed or severely injured in action. And the remainder, as well as all of his personal effects, were willed to Arthur and Molly, to be dealt with as they saw fit.

And that was it. No friends were listed. No girlfriend or colleagues, just two charities and his family. It wasn't what she had expected and it brought tears to her eyes.

She quickly put the document back where she found it and returned the photograph to its spot next to the jar of ache paste. _Maybe I ought to leave him a note_ she thought. _In case he doesn_ _'_ _t see the paste and I forget to tell him it's there._

Several quills were lined neatly on the desk. She grabbed one, but saw no blank parchment. The desk had two drawers. The first stuck a bit and contained extra bottles of ink, a knife to sharpen quills, polish for his wand and a sealed container of owl treats.

The second drawer slid open easily and contained one more surprise for Molly. There, sitting above a pile of parchment in a variety of shapes and sizes sat a journal. It was black leather with a crimson stripe that ran the length of the book around the binding. A PW was stamped in the lower right corner surrounded by a ring of stars.

Molly and Arthur had bought it for his 11th birthday, just one week before he was due to leave for Hogwarts. They had been at Flourish and Blotts buying Bill's new textbooks when Percy saw the display.

The journal was a little pricey, but its pages were replaceable, the sign said. With a tap of the wand he could flatten the filled pages into a small square that fit into one of 12 pockets on the inside jacket, 11 of which contained small squares of empty pages that could be expanded with another tap.

The sign guaranteed that there was enough paper for even the most verbose of witches and wizards to get a good 10 years out of the journal.

Oh, how Percy had begged for it. He swore he'd write it in every day, take excellent care of it and never, ever lose it. Molly had made noncommittal noises and said she'd talk it over with Arthur, even though she had already decided it would be a perfect gift for the boy who was writing his own name at two and his siblings' names at two and a half.

They had only told him about it on his birthday though. They of course got him something to open on his special day - a nice quill that Molly swore she had seen him still using seven years later as he studied for his NEWTS over Christmas Break - by then sharpened so many times it was little more than a stub - and told him there'd be a journal with his name on it that they'd owl to him at Hogwarts, after he was sorted.

The stripe of the journals came in a variety of colors - the best sellers being red, blue, yellow and green for the four houses at Hogwarts - and Molly wouldn't have been at all surprised if the sorting hat called Ravenclaw when Percy was sorted.

But Percy was insistent. He didn't care what house he was sorted into, he wanted that journal to be Gryffindor Red, because that's what Bill and Charlie would have wanted if they had been in the market for one. Percy had looked up to his brothers so much as a boy; she wondered if they even knew. She certainly knew they hadn't spoken in ages.

Carefully she lifted the journal out of the drawer. It's leather, once stiff and new, was worn now and soft under her hands. She remembered the day Percy had accidentally left it out and the twins got ahold of it. They were 10.

When he caught them, he placed a locking spell so strong on it that not even Charlie could pry it open. She knew, because Percy made him try, just to show how strong it was.

Molly set it down on the desk and ran her hands over it. She wanted to touch everything that belonged to him, Absorb whatever trace of magic he had left behind in a desperate hope to feel closer to the son she had helped push away, or at the very least stood by uselessly while others did. When her fingers reached the small clasp that held the journal closed, it unhitched, seemingly of its own volition and fell off to the side, leaving the journal and all its contents available to her.

Slowly, Molly opened the journal. Oh, she knew she shouldn't have done it. She should have closed the clasp, placed the journal back in the drawer, wrote her note and gone to bed, but she couldn't. She comforted herself knowing that to some extent it was what Percy wanted. Granted, it was probably meant for after...it was probably meant for much later...but Molly couldn't help it.

She had to know her son.


	6. A Dream Fulfilled

_**4 June, 1994**  
Today I walked out of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry a full wizard. In my time here I hope I have served the school well both as a scholar and as a mentor and role model for the younger students. But what next?_

_There's an opening in the Department of International Magic Cooperation at the ministry and Father has arranged a meeting with Bartemius Crouch, the head of the department. I can't take the job prospect for granted just because my father works there, though. He may have secured the interview, but winning Mr. Crouch over will be up to me._

_I'm not terribly worried, though. The position is for a clerical assistant - a job that, if I do say so myself, I'm more than qualified to do. Perhaps I should hold back a bit during the interview? I wouldn't want Mr. Crouch to think I'm TOO qualified._

_Yes. Enthusiasm mixed with moderation will be the key._

_**8 July, 1994**  
Years of hard work paid off and I've made it into the Ministry of Magic. I got the job I had expected to get in Mr. Crouch's office. It's not glamourous, but it's a first step. It will be a lot of work, though. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately?) I'm surrounded by fools who would rather discuss the latest Quibbler article and quidditch game than do any work._

_But it's all right. If I can do my work well and pick up their slack, I'm sure to be noticed by Mr. Crouch. Actually, I saw a document on Jeffries' desk about a cauldron thickness study. It's really a fascinating topic. It's a few files down, so if I time things right, I should get through my work in time to offer to take it off his hands..._

Molly remembered Percy's first month or so at the ministry. His workload at first had seemed normal for what one would expect from a junior ministry employee, but it hadn't been long before he was drowning in reports. She thought it was just Crouch being overbearing and unfair. She hadn't realized Percy had brought it purposefully on himself.

She hoped he had still set aside time for himself to have fun and be a young man.


	7. Be Careful What You Wish For

_**23 July 1994**  
Penelope and I made love for the first time tonight._

Molly quickly turned the page.


	8. A Ridiculous Offer

_**14 August 1994**  
I can't work under these conditions!_

Molly immediately noticed the difference in handwriting in this entry and the ones before. Where the previous ones had been filled with neat, easy-to-read script, these words were tiny and tightly bunched together, as if Percy were willing himself to avoid angry scrawls.

_Between Mum yelling at Fred and George for Merlin knows what, Ron and his little friends clodhopping up and down the stairs endlessly and the racket outside it's a right miracle my head has not caved in on itself. And nobody cares about cauldron safety! What is wrong with this house?_

_And I can't stop thinking about Penelope, which is the last thing I need to be thinking about. I don't understand what happened there. I certainly cared for her. More than I think I've cared for anyone to whom I wasn't directly related. But I guess that wasn't good enough for her._

Molly put the journal down in disgust. Had that Clearwater girl broken up with her Percy? She knew she never liked that one. Of course, she also knew her motherly instincts were probably clouding her judgment.

_Apparently I'm not ambitious enough for her, the journal continued. Me. Not ambitious enough. I think she meant 'not exciting enough.' Well, she has another thing coming if she thinks Ministers of Magic come falling off the quidditch pitch or crawling out of dragon caves._

_No, they start at the bottom and they work their way up, and if that means I have to be a yes-man for Crouch and bring my work home every night and weekend, that's what I'm going to do. And when I'm Minister of Magic and she's married to some fat former Beater we'll see who gets the last laugh._

There was a small break in the text, and when writing resumed it was back to its normal script, as if Percy had taken a break, calmed himself and returned.

_Dinner was quite nice. A welcome respite from the day's chaos. Tomorrow we leave for the Quidditch World Cup. I can't say I really care about the game, but it will be interesting to finally meet Ludo Bagman. I hear he's a friendly man, if not more than a little incompetent. But a contact is a contact, after all._

Molly skipped ahead several pages, scanning for the one name she knew would give more clues to Percy's present work. Finally she found one.

_**1 October 1994**  
I had the strangest encounter today. An auror by the name of Marcus Worthington came to see me. The others were heading into their second hour of a long lunch, so it was just me in the office when he showed._

_He said the aurors were afraid Mr. Crouch was in danger. In danger and susceptible to the Imperius Curse. Of course, they had no proof. No data to back up such an assertion, just 'a bad feeling.' And he wanted ME to keep tabs on Crouch for them!_

_As if it's not preposterous enough that somebody could infiltrate the Ministry of Magic and imperio one if its department heads, if they think he's in danger they need to do their jobs and assign more protection, not ask a research assistant to play spy._

_And that's what it is, too! Spying! I looked up this Worthington fellow, and he's third in line for Head of the Auror Office and if it weren't for that I'd dare say his request was bordering on treasonous. I'll have no part in it._

_**13 October 1994**  
I think the aurors may be right. I certainly didn't mean to be spying on Mr. Crouch, but ever since Mr. Worthington made contact, I've caught myself giving him sideways glances, looking up whenever he enters or exits the room - in fact, I was so caught up in watching him that I wrote a third of a report on the wood of my desk before realizing I had hit the end of the parchment._

_And what I've determined from all this unintentional watching is that something is very wrong. Sometimes he'll walk out of his office and stand among our desks as if he's forgotten why he's there - or even forgotten where he is. I offered him tea the other day and had to call his name three times before he acknowledged my presence, and I was standing right next to him._

_It's just not right, and with the Tri-Wizard tournament only weeks away, nobody is listening to me - not that I mentioned this Imperius theory to them._

_I suppose I'll be contacting Mr. Worthington after all._

_**15 Ocober 1994**  
Everything is so confusing. Between the hustle and bustle the department is going through and possible curse business it's a wonder I know which end is up. I told Worthington what I've noticed - he didn't seem at all surprised to hear from me._

_He asked me to keep watching Crouch, and again, I told him no. I'm not qualified for that sort of thing. Noticing something is off is one thing, but outright surveillance? I don't have that kind of training!_

_"You could," he answered me. And yes, I suppose I could. And the skies could turn fuchsia and the river could turn to pudding._

_And then he lost his mind. Tried to tell me there's this secret auror program. The only ones who know it even exists are the ones in it, Rufus Scrimgeour and the Minister of Magic - and the Minister doesn't even know who's in it or what it does, he just knows it protects the Ministry from supposed internal threats. So, first Worthington asked me to believe in this group and then? Then he asked me to JOIN it!_

_That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard in my life. I can't be an auror._


	9. October 1994

**_19 October 1994  
_ ** _I_ _'_ _ve been thinking about Worthington_ _'_ s _proposition. I suppose his logic is sound. He says they can_ _'_ t _bring in a new person to watch Crouch - it would be too suspicious. Asking the idiots I work with would be useless._

 _I_ _'_ _ve done my job well, he said. Who would think it odd if I moved up the ladder into a position that would provide close contact. From that vantage point, I_ _'_ _d have more access to Crouch than anyone (aside from whomever_ _'_ s _cursed him) and could be a great help in figuring out who has done this and why._

_Beyond that, the chances of the program staying a secret forever are slim. Someday, the wizarding world will know about the aurors who fought against villainy that had wormed its way into the heart of our government._

_Imagine what being a part of that would mean._

**_31 October 1994  
_ ** _It_ _'_ _s Halloween and Mr. Crouch has left me in charge of the office while he goes to Hogwarts to see whose names are pulled from the Goblet of Fire. And by_ _"_ _me_ " _I mean whoever he thinks_ _"_ _Weatherby_ " _is and by_ _"_ _in charge_ _"_ _I mean alone. As usual my_ _"_ _colleagues_ _"_ _cut out early._

 _But it turned out to be quite the fortuitous event, because Worthington stopped in to explain more about his task force. It_ _'_ _s always a small group, he said, made up of four to five witches and wizards known for their participation in other departments._

_When willing candidates are chosen, together they undergo a modified version of the training other aurors receive. The content is exactly the same, but over a longer period. And of course we stay in our homes rather than living on campus. Days would be spent continuing in my job and keeping an eye out for odd activity and evenings spent receiving some sort of classroom training with pratical training and team building on weekends. Oh, yes. And we have to agree to having the entire experience obliviated should we wash out._

_But if we don_ _'_ _t wash out, then at the end, we_ _'_ _re aurors, actual and whole, albeit, unknown._

Molly noticed the change in Percy's writing. What had started as "Worthington's task force" and "the candidates" had become had become "we." So there it was. Halloween night 1994 - the night Harry Potter's name would be drawn from the Goblet of Fire, setting into motion a chain of events that would culminate in the Dark Lord's return to power - her son had quietly decided to become an auror.

She couldn't help but feel pride for her son. She had always been proud of him, of course. He was marvelous in school, responsible, had an amazing work ethic...but reading about the journey he had embarked upon right under her nose without saying a word, without seeking advice, or complaining that it was too hard - just doing what he knew to be right - filled her with pride.

And sadness. She wished he hadn't felt he needed to go it alone.


	10. Fallout

_**27 December 1994**  
I've officially been promoted within the office to Crouch's personal assistant. You can bet my former colleagues are doing some work now._

_I think Raymond is jealous that I'm moving along faster in my department than he is in his, but its actually no picnic. With Crouch being "ill" the amount of work at the office is staggering._

_From a man smuggling carpets, to attempts to ban dueling, to meeting with the head of another country's department next year, I daresay that makes me a little more busy than fetching tea for the head of the Press Corp while eavesdropping to see what he's telling that Rita Skeeter woman._

Molly looked at the photograph of aurors. Raymond must be the brown-haired wizard - presumably someone who works in the entertainment and news leg of the ministry.

_Besides,_ the journal continued, _it's not like we weren't BOTH at the Yule Ball. I was filling in for Crouch and he was coordinating with the Weird Sisters, and we both were keeping an eye on Harry Potter._

_That poor boy. General consensus is that somebody wants him dead, and with the Death Eater shenanigans at the Quidditch World Cup, and Crouch's curse, it's not a far leap of logic to assume there's somebody very powerful pulling strings in the background._

_Of course, there wasn't much either of us could do for Harry at the ball. It was literally just watching him and scanning the room for anything suspicious that we could report while not seeming thoroughly out of place. I'm not sure what either of us would do if someone had leaped up on a table and tried to take a shot at anyone._

_Speaking of shots, the twins were harassing Ludo Bagman, trying to get advice on marketing those insane fake wands of theirs. Bagman said he'd get them in touch with somebody at Zonko's Joke Shop. Of course I knocked the whole premise - because it really is quite mad - but the more I think about it, the more I have to admire them just a bit._

_Part of our training with the task force includes memorizing a book of quotes by great leaders - people we should all strive to emulate - and one of them, by a Sir Hesburgh, is "The very essence of leadership is that you must have vision."_

_And I'll say this for the Fred and George: Despite their flagrant disregard for rules and utter inability to focus on schoolwork, they certainly have vision._

_But anyway. All of our training so far has been book work, which is fine by me. We're supposed to begin practical sessions in the new year. I've no idea what that will be like._

Molly devoured page after page of the journal, fascinated. Reading about Percy's colleagues, Molly felt like she had known them forever.

There was Raymond Penbrien, the happy young man from the ministry's media division. Fun-loving and playful, he always had a joke ready, and could lift the group's spirits on a bad day with only a few words or actions.

_But he's never mean,_ Percy wrote. _Not really. Some people feel like they have to be tearing others down to be funny, but not Ray._

_I think what amazes me the most about him is his ability to read a room and respond accordingly, sometimes skating the line of appropriateness, but never running roughshod over it..._

There was Isaac Grier, the man from St. Mungos. Strong and occasionally hot-tempered. Of the four of them, he was the closest to an auror at the start. He was an up-and-comer in magical law enforcement. The same department as Percy, but where Percy handled paperwork and relations, Isaac was in the field, offering support on raids and making arrests.

And lastly there was Meredith Cross, the young woman in the photograph. She was a clerk for Tiberius Ogden - a member of the Wizengamot. Molly turned page after page, engrossed in the story of her son's secret life, and the friends he made along the way. They seemed like four people with nothing in common at the start, but as she kept reading, they became more alike...more familial...than she would have guessed.

It was inevitable, she supposed. They spent nearly every moment together outside of their public jobs, learning, training, offering support.

Molly had a front row seat to their lives, watching as they became a unit. They were there on 15 March when Percy, overwhelmed by the demands of his jobs, was ready to quit, each bringing their own thing to the conversation. Compassion. Humor. A kick in the rear. And he was there for them, sharing his knowledge and advice. Offering a shoulder to lean on and an ear to listen.

And guiding them all was Marcus Worthington. He was the glue that held them together and the hand that molded them into aurors. He stood by them all - especially Percy, offering reassurance that everything would be fine despite the inquiry over Barty Crouch's behavior.

_They're trying to blame me,_ Percy had written. _They're saying I should have known something was wrong with Mr. Crouch. I wanted to tell them I DID know. That I was doing my best to watch him and Potter and do my duties as Crouch's assistant. I want so badly to tell them I was there when Potter and Viktor Krum found Crouch. That there's a reason Krum was only stunned and not killed outright._

_But I can't. It would end the entire operation, and all of this would have been for nothing. Mr. Worthington says everything will be all right. The inquiry is just a formality and really nothing more than a blow to my pride, designed to make me feel grateful and evermore dedicated to any job the Ministry would have me do._

_I can see his point. Mostly, however, I wish I had seen who was in the forest. I could handle the inquiry, I could handle being fired, even, if it meant the wizard who had killed Crouch and tried to kill the Durmstrang boy was in custody._

_I was too afraid. I wasn't fast enough or strong enough to give chase._

_I am not an auror._

Molly could feel the desperation in her son's words. She thought back. It had been more than a year ago, but she remembered the inquiry. She remembered him being out of sorts over it, but she couldn't remember what she had done. Had she comforted him? Caught up in the reformation of the Order of the Phoenix, had she taken the time to be there for her middle son?

She couldn't remember, and the pages that followed were enough to break her heart. Thank goodness for Marcus Worthington. As Molly turned pages in the journal she came to a few that had been torn out and apparently crumpled into a ball before being retrieved, smoothed and spellotaped back into the book.

The words were smeared and sloppily scrawled onto the parchment, tearing through in places. It was only from years of deciphering her other boys' letters home that she was able to continue reading,

_Unbelievable!_ The entry began. _It's absolutely, positively sodding unbelievable!_

Molly paused for a moment, wondering what could have sent her son into such a rage. But then she remembered.

_I was going to tell them tonight! Worthington said we could invite two family members to our swearing-in ceremony, and when I started to tell Mum and Dad I got cold feet and told them about my promotion to Fudge's office instead. As a pre-cursor! And what do they say?_

_"Percy, think about it," Dad said. "Why would they put you in Fudge's office given what happened with Crouch?" He may as well have come out and said "You're not good enough for that job!" And then he went farther, saying the only reason I was there was to spy on the family and dealings with Dumbledore! As if I'm too stupid to realize when I'm being used!_

_And you know, maybe somebody SHOULD be keeping an eye on Dumbledore! Yes, he's a great wizard, very powerful, but so was You-Know-Who! And this Order of the Phoenix? Vigilantes!_

_So, now, now I not only have to deal with being the son of Arthur Weasley: Crackpot Supreme (and to think I used to defend him and his obsession with muggle culture and items) but I just have to HOPE nobody finds out about the Order business!_

_If you're not with the ministry, you're not with the law, and I can't abide by that. I can't stay here._


	11. An Honor

Molly skipped ahead, past the carefully taped in pages. Her son's angry rants continued on, as he aired grievance after grievance. She could feel his hurt radiating from the pages, as if a bit of angry, uncontrolled magic had spilled out with the ink, and she could not bring herself to read it.

_Today is the day,_ the next journal entry on smooth, blemish free parchment began. _Today is the day we became aurors. We were outside, in a small clearing not far from where the standard classes received their commissions, but out of sight from passerby._

_It was the four of us and Worthington in our blue dress robes, Rufus Scrimgeour, in red, a clerk and six civilians - family and friends of Meredith, Grier and Raymond. I can't lie, for a moment, standing there I felt so alone. All that work and effort and all it had done was estrange me from my family._

_For a moment, I would have given almost anything to see their faces, proudly staring back at me. Except they wouldn't have been proud, would they have? They'd have been suspicious. Disbelieving. Malcontent. For a moment, I was sad._

_But then, something amazing happened. Before everything was to begin, Raymond grabbed my by the elbow and dragged me over to his parents._

_"Mum, Dad," he said. "This is Percy Weasley from my team. Smartest git I know. Weren't for him, we probably would have spent days on this obstacle course thing that you have to puzzle your way out of..." He talked me up in a way I don't think anyone has before. He even had good things to say about my dueling. I shook hands with his father, who thanked me for helping his son._

_Then Meredith joined us with her older sister and brother-in-law and Grier with his nephew and a childhood friend. It was as if they knew in that moment what I needed and didn't hesitate to provide it._

_We all talked and shared stories. We laughed and they made me feel a part of something. Something more than just a team of would-be aurors and random strangers. Some of them had only known me five minutes, but they made me feel like family._

_A bell tolled then, and the four of us formed a line at the center of the clearing at attention. In a surprise to all of us, Scrimegeour approached Worthington - or Marcus as he's insisted we call him now that we're commissioned - and acknowledged his service. Thirty years. Absolutely stunning. Scrimgeour affixed a small disc to his collar in place of his bars and leaf._

_And then it was our turn. I was at the end of the line and Raymond was at its head. As Ray recited the oath, his father stepped forward, and my heart sank._

_In all my anger, I had forgotten about the tradition. Traditionally, a cadet would appoint someone - usually a family member - not just to pin on their new insignia, but to acquire it as well. Some purchase it from Uniform Supply but others - like Raymond - receive bars passed down in the family. His belonged to his grandfather, who had fought in the war against Grindelwald._

_But I had made no appointment. I had no bar to be given and no one to give it to me._

_I remember working hard to stand very still, even though all I wanted to do was run away, crawl under a rock and hide. My heart beat faster with every recitation, every pin and every handshake._

_When it was my turn, Marcus stepped forward. My mind was racing almost as fast as my heart. I wanted to stop him, to question him. Didn't he know what was going on? What I hadn't done? How could I possibly be commissioned now? But he looked into my eyes and I felt a calmness wash over me. All my worries and fears were gone, tossed into the air as if they had never been. For the first time in what may have been forever, I was purely in the moment._

_I raised my hand then as he led me through my oath. They are words and a history I will carry with me until the end of time, never to forget, but in the interest of completeness, I include them here:_

>  _I, Percival Ignatius Weasley, having been commissioned an auror in the Ministry of Magic do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Wizarding World of Great Britain against all enemies, foreign and domestic, that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservations; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office upon which I am about to enter._

 _Marcus took another step then and reached into a pocket of his robes, removing one shining silver bar, chipped slightly in the top corner. As he undid its clasp and pinned it to my collar he whispered in my ear words - like my oath - I will never forget._

_"Percival," he said, "My mother gave me this bar 30 years ago. Her father gave it to her. I have no children to whom it may pass. Please accept it now with my sincerest congratulations and respect."_

_No matter what happens from here. No matter where I go or what I do, wearing this bar - passed down over three generations of aurors- is the greatest honor I will ever receive._

_I spent the next moment in a bit of a haze as he shook my hand and pressed my new identification badge into my palm. Scrimgeour shook my hand and congratulated me before turning back to the small crowd and presenting us officially._

_When I began this journey, it seemed impossible. It was something other witches and wizards did, not researchers in the Office International Magical Cooperation. But I've learned so much - about the job, about the past, about myself. It's changed me. I am more than I was. More than I ever thought I could be._

_My name is Percival Weasley, and I am an auror._

A fat drop splattered onto the parchment, and Molly wiped at her eyes quickly as the tear began to spread into the ink, leaving a runny stain. She set the open journal on the desk hoping it would dry all right.

She leaned forward, placing her elbows on her knees and shook as she tried to hold back sobs - sobs for herself and her family, her boy.

She cried the most for Percy, stuck in a bed at St. Mungos, battered, bloodied, and alone.

She turned her eyes to the heavens, and in doing so passed once more over the photograph from Percy's commission. And then a weight lifted from her chest. Because Percy wasn't alone. Isaac Grier was there. Marcus Worthington was there. Meredith Cross and Raymond Penbrien were no doubt on their way, if not already there.

Molly rose from her chair and went to the window. The blackness of night had faded to a dark, inky blue. It wouldn't be long now before rays of sunlight began to peek over the horizon, glistening off puddles in the street as night turned to dawn and dawn to day.

Arthur stirred, then, grunting through a bit of fitful sleep, and thrashing one arm out. Molly thought she heard him call Percy's name before curling into a tight ball with a whimper.

Molly picked up the journal - its pages already dry - and held it to her chest as she joined Arthur in bed. She wrapped her arms around him, and he relaxed into her, Percy's leather book snuggled between them. It reminded her of when he was a little boy who would seek comfort in their arms after being ripped awake by nightmares.

Only this time, he was comforting them.


	12. Epilogue

Molly dreamed of Percy that night. She dreamed of him as a baby and as a boy, as a student at hogwarts and as a junior ministry member. And she dreamed about him as a man who battled demons both figurative and literal. A man who overcame his anger though never his sorrow. An auror, watching over them through everything. Always there.

When Arthur was coordinating raids on the homes of dark wizards, Percy was in the shadows, his wand at the ready. When the family had to go to Diagon Alley in these trying times, Percy was there, hiding behind a Daily Prophet. And when Fred and George started their joke shop, Percy was planting a seed in the Ministry's ear about charmed hats and cloaks.

But he kept his distance. He couldn't approach them. He couldn't ask or explain anything. His job was dangerous. If he was found out...if he was caught...anyone he was on good terms with would be in even more danger.

As he moved forward in the ministry he had been vocal in his mistrust of Professor Dumbledore and Harry Potter. It had gotten him close to Cornelius Fudge and allowed access to find and plug holes in the ministry.

And while his position on Dumbledore and Harry was exaggerated within the walls of the Ministry, he clearly had a differing opinion on the best ways to fight Voldemort and severely questioned the wisdom behind the idea of young Harry being destined to play a role in such a fight.

So he stayed hidden. For the good everyone he stayed alone but for the handful of people who lived the truth with him.

It was a happy dream and a sad dream, and when Arthur shook her awake the next morning for a few seconds as her mind drifted upwards to consciousness, it was terrifying. Her heart felt as if it had stopped as she opened her eyes. There were only two reasons Arthur would be waking her and only one of them was good.

Molly tried to speak. She opened her mouth but no words nor air came out. It was as if time itself had stopped.

Arthur knelt down on the floor and looked into her eyes.

"He's awake, Molly," he said. Time moved again, and Molly expelled a great sob as she grabbed Arthur, pulling him to her in a tight hug. As she squeezed her eyes closed against his neck, she could feel him shaking

They held each other like that for a moment before Molly pulled away, wiping tears from her eyes.

"Come on then," she said. "We mustn't waste any more time."

They dressed quickly and took the floo to St. Mungo's, dashing through the halls, but as they came to the wing for spell damage and Molly reached out to tug the door open, Arthur stuck out his hand, stopping it. Molly looked at him, holding the door and breathing heavily.

"Arthur, what is it?" she asked. The question hung in the air for a moment before Arthur turned around and leaned against the door, facing the way they had come and not looking at Molly.

"I can't go in there," he said quietly.

"Oh, whatever for?" Molly said. "Of course you can, have you gone mad?"

"I went to see him," Arthur said. "Last Christmas, after he sent the sweater back, I went to his office at the ministry and I yelled at him." The words came quickly now. "I told him how much he had hurt you and said his behavior was more fitting of a Malfoy than a Weasley and that he needn't worry about receiving anything from us ever again."

"I watched him," Arthur continued. "He just sat there, stacking a pile of papers - you know how he likes things neat - and he wouldn't even look at me as he asked me to leave. At the time I thought he was just being insolent, but Molly now I know.

"I *hurt* him Molly. The last time I saw him I hurt him. I may as well have put him here," the last words came in a rush and choked off at the end as he brought his hand to his mouth to stifle a sob.

Arthur was a tall man, like Percy, but here he looked so small. Molly wrapped her arms around him.

"Sweetheart, it's all right," she whispered. "You didn't have all the information. You were standing up for me. Can you imagine any circumstance under which Percy wouldn't forgive you for that?" Arthur was silent. "He's a good boy. He's a good man," she corrected herself, "and we've a second chance now to make things right. All three of us."

Arthur nodded and wiped his face. "You're right," he said. "You're absolutely right."

They entered the wing together. The door to Percy's room at the end of the hall on the left was open. As they walked toward it, they could hear a man speaking, but couldn't make it out his words. Molly guessed it must have been Raymond - the one Percy's journal had described as a bit of a clown - because the next thing they heard was a great gale of laughter, with one man's howls drowning out the rest.

Mr. Worthington stepped into the hallway, still chuckling with a smile on his face. He fiddled with the clasp on his cloak as he began down the hallway, but when he looked up and saw them, his face broke into a grin that made him look 20 years younger.

He rushed toward them, taking each of their hands in his.

"How is he?" Molly asked immediately.

"Oh, he's quite well," Worthington said. "Quite well. I don't know that he'd believe it if you told him, but Percival's always been a bit of a fighter in his own way."

A weight lifted from Arthur's and Molly's chests as they continued down the hallway, daring even to smile at the news. As they reached Percy's room, Molly reached out a hand, stopping Worthington. She had told Arthur that Percy would be forgiving and would be happy to see them. She'd dreamed it, but deep down...deep down she wasn't sure how he would react at all. And so now she just wanted to listen to him. To hear him speak as if it were any other day. The conversation had moved to a more serious topic than whatever they had been laughing about before.

"Has the girl been located?" Percy asked.

"Yes," a woman - Meredith - replied. "Oddly enough, her parents were a muggle and a squib, but the family knew of our world and the girl's aunt is a witch working at one of the muggle libraries. The girl went there, and the aunt recognized the Weasley emblem inside your hat - "

"Why are there witches working at a muggle library?" Raymond interrupted.

"Because, Raymond, if you had bothered to study in school you would know that most of the muggle libraries also have wizarding sections led by a witch or wizard who acts as a liasion between the two. Aren't books part of your department?"

"Nope. Just rock stars." Molly could practically hear the woman rolling her eyes.

"Anyway," she continued, "when she saw the hat she contacted the ministry immediately."

"Are they here?" Percy asked. "The aunt and girl? I'd very much like to meet them and offer my condolences."

"They're in the tea room," a third man said. Molly recognized his gruff voice from the night before. Isaac Grier.

"Yeah," Raymond said mischievously. "The aunt wants to meet you, too. Now, I've done some reconnaissance - "

"You've done what?" Percy interrupted.

"Reconnaissance. Her name is Audrey, she likes cheese and has a rather odd fascination with an old muggle police box...I don't know it's something to do with muggle fiction -"

"Ray!" Percy said. "Are you honestly suggesting I race up the tea room and start hitting on a grief-stricken woman?"

"Well not right now," Raymond replied. "You're in no shape to race." Meredith could be heard suppressing a snort. "But she's young for being somebody's aunt, believe me when I say she's your type and eventually you're going to be better and she's going to feel better and when that happens you're going to be thanking me because, Percival, you are absolutely hopeless when it comes to women."

"He's got you there, mate" Grier said quickly.

This time Molly could hear her son's soft laughter -the same as it had always been - until he stopped with a wince. "Don't make me laugh guys," he said between snickers. "Don't make laugh, anymore."

As the laughter in the room began to fade, Molly tapped Worthington on the shoulder. He cleared his throat and swept back into the room.

"Percival," he said. "There are some people here who would like to see you."

Molly and Arthur stepped almost sheepishly into the room. And there Percy was. His hair was combed neatly, as it always was, and his glasses were once again perched on the bridge of his nose. When he saw them, his eyes went wide and his breath came in shallow bursts of air.

"Mum," he said softly. "Dad, I..." he swallowed and looked away, inspecting a sign on the wall about handwashing.

"We'll just step out," Worthington said as he herded the others out the door and closed it behind them.

Molly opened her mouth to speak but stopped when Percy turned to look at them. He swallowed again.

"I didn't think you'd come," he said. His lip quivered and his voice shook, almost imperceptibly, but Molly noticed. She noticed and went straight to his bedside and wrapped her arms around him, and Arthur was not far behind.

They sat there the three of them, holding each other tightly. There could have been tears and apologies and declarations of love and forgiveness for everything that had been said and unsaid over the past year, but there was none of it. There didn't need to be.

Instead they were just there, together and grateful. They were a family once again.


End file.
